


1212

by sangiebyheart



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheesy, Established Relationship, Geonhak is too damn wholesome for his own good, Like, M/M, Marriage Proposal, lots of math metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangiebyheart/pseuds/sangiebyheart
Summary: Those notes of compliments, of reminders, of important dates, scribbled onto papery paws, they may not appear too special to any outsider, might even seem a tad too cheesy for the unromantic, but—their importance, to Seoho at least, is immeasurable.Unquantifiable.Seoho, as gifted as he is with numbers, could not even begin to figure them out.Or, Geonhak writes notes, until he doesn't. Seoho begins to lose his mind.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho
Comments: 17
Kudos: 70





	1212

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suheafoams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suheafoams/gifts).



> happy birthday dahlia.
> 
> look at this shiny seodo you definitely didn't know i was writing for you.
> 
> hello tomoons i am an invader. i have never written for you. how's life, you good

See, here is the thing.

Seoho goes through his days with the comforting hold on any number he can find. The date, the numbers on the clock by their bed when Geonhak rises before him to get ready for early birds at the daycare, those precious fifteen minutes he spends with Geonhak at breakfast in his pajamas as his boyfriend is stalling his departure despite the risk of being late (by five minutes, Seoho knows,) and even at the bus stop half an hour later, when he expects the bus to arrive at 8:22 sharp.

Not a minute sooner, not a minute later - on lucky days, that is.

Work, too, is an abundance of numbers in places of letters, the Greek alphabet intermingling with the Latin, calculations upon calculations on computer screens that bring forth the fruits of the labor he has been exhausting himself with over the last ten years or so.

Four hours until lunchtime rolls around and one to catch Geonhak during naptime at the daycare, where he can sneak out for but a moment to give Seoho a call.

That is the time when, usually, Seoho would read the note Geonhak leaves in his lunchbox.

Like the romantic fool that he is.

Like the lovesick puppy that he is.

Because Geonhak does this, goes through pad after pad of animal-themed sticky notes to bring a little sweetness into the dingy little break room of the department of physical chemistry at their local university; though more often than not, Geonhak chooses to call Seoho himself the very sunshine that lights up the room, with Geonhak as no more than the catalyst that brings forth the enchanting grin that has Seoho scrunch his nose in delight, and makes a crinkle of delight appear next to sparkling eyes.

Up until eighteen days ago, Seoho tended to tease him for it.

In good nature, of course. Seoho does, after all, love his boyfriend to the moon and back - it is just that—his preferred methods, his ways of communicating this very sentiment to the object of his affections are, even after years of being so well-attuned to one another, not always the most ideal ones. 

Because after thirty-nine months of being in a loving, committed relationship, for most people, there comes a time where the passion begins to tread on a path against zero. For some, the graph may stop before it can even approach it in the first place.

He and Geonhak, they are—weird, weird, and different. Weirdly different. And they have always been just that, even in the eyes of their friends.

If Seoho were to put it into an equation, were to use the tools mathematics have gifted him with to answer life’s unanswered questions, then he would spend hours upon days upon weeks searching for a reason why their function is nowhere near zero, why Geonhak still chooses to set them straight towards the incline - because as far as Seoho looks, the familiarity between them should routinize them, routinize their relationship, and if not to zero then it should lead them towards a constant, as with the vast majority of relationships Seoho has had the displeasure of following to the decline.

Perhaps, the odd one out, the variable to keep them on the steady up and up, not too abrupt, not too quick, is Geonhak himself.

Because who else, if not the sentimental part of him, that Seoho will only ever admit to loving if Geonhak corners and tickles him towards surrender - Seoho’s stubbornness might just be the only possible cause to ever pull them towards a minimal turning point.

There are some, in all relationships, and theirs is far from perfect, but—it is Geonhak who remembers to stir them up, in quiet, in thoughtful ways.

Those notes of compliments, of reminders, of important dates, scribbled onto papery paws, they may not appear too special to any outsider, might even seem a tad too cheesy for the unromantic, but—their importance, to Seoho at least, is immeasurable.

Unquantifiable.

Seoho, as gifted as he is with numbers, could not even begin to figure them out.

See, here is where the dilemma unfolds, truly.

For Seoho went and—took the notes for granted.

They tease each other, they do. It is who they are. Friends who claimed to be arch enemies for all of those jabs here and the never-ceasing banter there, until Youngjo finally sat them down for an entire evening to make them realize that the other’s presence was inescapable, though not for the reasons they would have initially thought.

It turns out that, having someone on your brain for the majority of the day, focusing your entire energy on this one person, fully blending out that the other person does the same - it all speaks of an underlying, unaddressed tension, of attraction, of having to open yourself up to the possibility of a different sort of love.

Geonhak had confessed with a note, too. It only makes sense for him to keep up with tradition.

He had written them under circumstances as dire as sickness, on days free of work where he could have slept in and yet chose to get up and scribble his affections out on paper, even when he went away for a week, Seoho ended up discovering sticky notes in places he was instructed to look, if only for the sprinkle of happiness that should never be amiss, even if Geonhak cannot be around to uphold his morning ritual.

So, why, why, _why_ has he stopped writing them those seventeen days ago?

If Seoho works his brain for the answer, all which comes up is the silent grin of mischief on Geonhak’s face before he leaves their apartment in the morning, when Seoho attempts a subtle glance into his lunch box in search for a note that he hopes to find. 

The only conclusion, then, is this;

Geonhak is doing this on purpose. 

  
  


It has been exactly seventeen days since Seoho’s life has been turned upside down.

Seventeen days of utter normalcy, of nothing out of the ordinary, dull days lacking a pop of color beneath burning white lights, followed by regular evening routines and suspiciously habitual nights that have Seoho wonder just what it is that he has done to deserve them.

Seventeen days of his boyfriend giggling into his palm like a five-year-old whenever he believes Seoho is not looking, holding the grin in his cheeks when Seoho does catch his eye, and even as Seoho narrows his gaze of scrutiny at him, Geonhak is quick, quick, quick to raise his eyebrows at him and ask a question he knows Seoho will be too proud to answer in truth.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?”

And his voice, God, his _voice_ \- so sweet, so innocent, so incredibly smug with the knowledge that he is about to win in this game that they are playing, only waiting for Seoho to give in. He is teasing him, and he is taking far too much pleasure from it for Seoho to turn this around on him and claim the win for himself.

Because it has been seventeen days, and Kim Geonhak is perfectly aware of just what is wrong with his _pumpkin_.

The nickname emerged in the very beginnings of their relationship, when Hwanwoong decided Seoho should try out the orange hair dye instead of the light pink one, and Seoho would nearly rip his head off after the deed was done - since Hwanwoong did not think it necessary to tell Seoho of his change of mind.

Through all of the screaming that happened in the days that followed the debacle, Geonhak’s soft voice rang through his ears, and softer fingers kept running through Seoho’s hair, the teasing ‘Pumpkin’ that Geonhak used instead of Seoho’s name soon turned from cheesy into endearing.

Now, Seoho loves his boyfriend, he really does—how could he not after all, when he is such a handsome, such a kind, such a loving man, whose arms are strong enough for all sorts of throwing around and the warmest of embraces Seoho has ever had the pleasure of indulging—it is just that, in this friendly competition, Seoho will be damned if he turns out to be the loser.

He is a sore one, Dongju says, though Seoho would not recommend listening to him.

Seoho is convinced that this is only an elaborate test to see just how long it shall take for Seoho to break, to crack under the pressure that is the Not Knowing, for all Seoho does every single day is _Knowing_.

Payback for all the years Seoho has spent being an annoying little shit to Geonhak.

He supposes it must balance to the same amounts of suffering - seventeen days of being deprived of Geonhak’s sweetness in good, sizable portions in his one hour of downtime equals about six years of friendly-turned-amatory torture by one Lee Seoho.

How Geonhak has endured him for so long, Seoho has some theories to propose - number one, of course, being that he is just too gorgeous to be so missed from Geonhak’s life.

Any other theories, theories that may actually uphold their validity through thorough amounts of experimental tests, could never rival the very truth, however - the very truth that, Kim Geonhak loves him, so much, chooses to love him for a day and another more every time he greets a new dawn and kisses Seoho good morning. His boyfriend of three years and three months, who may just be allowed to be poking fun at Seoho for his own amusement, just this once, only because Seoho knows he shall continue his everyday gift-giving as soon as Seoho gives in and—

Answers his damn question. Starts the conversation himself. Puts a lion-themed sticky note in _Geonhak’s_ lunch for a change.

His possibilities at action are limitless, always, at all times. There is not a zero in sight, after all, remember?

Instead of those hundreds, thousands of opportunities Seoho could reach for, instead of the abundance of openings in their talks, all Seoho does is bite his tongue and watch on as Geonhak’s grin loses its wideness to just a fraction of concern, and he thinks that, maybe, if he holds onto his stubbornness for long enough, it might just be Geonhak to give in in the end.

His hopes are high on the morning of day eighteen, when he enters the kitchen without his brain actively telling him to approach Geonhak preparing their lunches, and instinct commands his body still engraved with fatigue to cling onto Geonhak’s back as he works so diligently.

He must be clingier than usual - although Seoho hardly remembers a morning where he does not chase his rest even as he stands upright, arms around Geonhak’s torso to leech off his boyfriend’s body heat - because Geonhak stops chopping up the vegetables he forces Seoho to eat, as much as he knows that Seoho will put up a strong fight. 

(His notes tended to distract Seoho from nibbling on a small piece of his assigned vegetable of the day, his mind drifting from the unpleasant taste on his tongue to Geonhak’s daily sappiness.)

It has been eighteen days, eighteen mornings, seventeen non-existent notes, and Geonhak is starting to get as restless as Seoho; maybe if Seoho were just a tad more awake than he is right now, as the sloth on Geonhak’s back, his own nerves would perfectly align with Geonhak’s, clogging up both of their throats to what should be said but isn’t, in favor of a victory that is meaningless, when it all comes down to it.

The question arrives with a gust of fresh air from the window, and the cool March air showing no mercy on two quiet lovers in their kitchen, making Seoho shiver against Geonhak, who pulls out of his loose grip to turn his face towards him, expression a little gloomy, a lot more serious than should be allowed at this hour.

7:12, Seoho notes. Their anniversary, captured in a small moment of time.

Funny that.

“Everything okay, pumpkin?” Geonhak whispers, because tranquility, however low its concentration, must never be disturbed - or it may be scared away, if Geonhak is too reckless, but he rarely ever is.

Geonhak always takes the utmost care with everything of meaning, of importance - Seoho, first and foremost. He puts others before him, always has, always will, Seoho knows.

Now, it is Seoho’s turn to put his mind at ease.

“Of course,” Seoho answers, forehead knocking gently at Geonhak’s to startle a laugh out of him. “Don’t frown too much, the wrinkles will stay forever, don’t you remember?”

Seoho does not have to open his eyes to know that Geonhak rolls his eyes at him, far too fond of him to be truly annoyed. “You almost sound like your mother.”

“Where do you think I got my sense of beauty from? She is a treasure, I only strive to be like her,” Seoho says, nuzzling his nose against Geonhak’s cheek. Geonhak gives a low, tentative laugh.

“We’re good, right?” Geonhak asks, and Seoho would laugh along if the question was not as genuine. It startles him, and he feels a bump in their curve. A turning point. 

Doubt does not look good on Geonhak.

Seoho raises his hand to his forehead, thumb attempting to smooth out his frown. “We’re perfect, I think. On the incline.”

Geonhak’s perfect eyebrows disturb Seoho’s hard work by climbing up his brow, only because as much as may be able to read Seoho like an open book these days, Seoho’s extravagant scientific theories are beyond his comprehension, despite his eager interest any time Seoho gets to talking about them.

He cannot know that, in Seoho’s head, there is a system of coordinates, a red line going up, up, up, no equation to represent it for what it is. If Seoho were to sketch it out, then perhaps, Geonhak might begin to have a grasp on Seoho’s dilemma.

Or, he might laugh, kiss him silly, call him too smart for his own good.

Any and everything is possible.

“You’re not missing anything?” Geonhak inquires after a moment’s pause, holding onto Seoho’s hand, interlocking them, and throwing away the key. “Nothing? You’re happy?”

Seoho does not know why Geonhak is toeing the line between revealing his intentions behind withholding the notes and asking very momentous questions this early in the morning, when they both have busy days at work yet ahead of them, and - although Seoho can only speak for himself, he is certain that Geonhak is not quite ready to lose either - nowhere near close to giving up the game.

But Seoho has seen him worry his pretty pink lips far too often in the past few days, over something that, yes, is definitely important to both of them, though not as life-altering, relationship-jeopardizing as Geonhak shall come to believe, if Seoho does not interject before Geonhak’s brain will spew dark, unwanted thoughts.

So, Seoho only says, “I’m happy. Are you happy? Or… is something on your mind?”

His tone is sincere, albeit coated in a thick layer of—false innocence. Of a lilt that goes higher, subtly so, of communicating that he knows, that he sees why Geonhak might be questioning Seoho’s peace of mind so suddenly. That he does not mind a back and forth, as silent as it may be.

Maybe, a small part in his own head is hoping for Geonhak to surrender.

Despite Seoho being the one at Geonhak’s mercy, not the other way around.

“I am happy,” Geonhak says, louder, solemn, and his smile is growing smug in a fraction of a second.

Ah, so he is back to being a devil. Seoho’s job is done, too well done.

“Nothing on my mind. Nothing—” Geonhak bites his lip, eyes glancing over his shoulder at the cutting board behind him, and the abandoned, sad little carrot pieces on it, “—except today’s specialties. I know carrots are your favorite.”

His words are loaded, heavier still when Seoho narrows his eyes and steps out of their little bubble and far, far away from the carrots Geonhak will pack into his lunch.

Seoho opens it, some five hours later, to bite into his ‘healthy snack of the day’ with enough reluctance to complain at a knowing Geonhak, happily munching on his own. Shared sorrows are sorrows halved, sure, but Geonhak’s satisfaction is practically leaking from his phone, Geonhak beaming at him as though this strange interaction in the morning did not happen.

So, day eighteen is no success, in the end.

(It is. They are happy, after all. That is enough to make him smile, in that lonely little break room of his.)

Day twenty is when Seoho approaches a tipping point, because his morning has been tough, no Geonhak to wake him with a kiss and a nudge, another batch of carrots greeting him at lunchtime that Seoho begrudgingly chopped himself, yet another noteless sight, then work goes and leaves him frustrated and screaming at the sight of error, error, _error_ , until even numbers will not wrap him into a cocoon of comfort, and all he does is get home and wrap himself up in a blanket.

When Geonhak calls him from his parents’ home that evening, Seoho complains and bitches and loses his sanity in just twenty minutes worth of the phone call, while Geonhak pours his sympathy in gentle coos and the occasional hum, a quiet supporter from a distance away.

Seoho nearly cracks, right then and there. 

In the middle of a heated rant, he slips, he tumbles, he says how dreadfully difficult it was to adjust parameters of a failed experiment, right as it chooses to repeat its faults over and over again, taunting Seoho to no end, then being forced to go for a lunch break without his usual company. He says, “I missed hearing your stupid voice and seeing your stupid face and most of all, I just missed—”

_The love you give in a note, even in physical absence. The comfort, the ease, the peace you allow to share with me, unconditionally._

Seoho catches himself. Geonhak catches him.

“You just missed…?” Geonhak prompts when Seoho trails off into nothing, clear to remember self-preservation.

It is a close call, he will admit as much, but Seoho has not lost just yet.

“I missed you, stupid,” Seoho finishes, flawless in the execution, mostly because the days of repressing his immediate emotions are long behind him, and he is not ashamed to admit that he is rather attached to that boyfriend of his now.

“I’ve only been gone a day, Seoho,” Geonhak offers softly before he sighs, and Seoho hears rustling on the other end, as Geonhak lies down on his bed and switches to video, smiling at the screen when Seoho follows. “I miss you, too. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better be,” he whispers back, and buries his nose into the void of his blankets. 

Seoho falls asleep on the phone that night.

Geonhak makes fun of him for it for the rest of his trip.

It is day twenty-six, a regular Tuesday, when they have to jump over a discontinuity in their function.

It is a crime by now, after almost a month. Geonhak standing there, unable to decide between the kitten with the pun and the funky dancing giraffe as he twirls his pen around in thought, smiling to himself like a dumb puppy.

Seoho is witness to this, only on pure accident. Seoho would not be awake so soon, not usually, not when he has a rare day off in the middle of the week - it just so happens that he is a creature of habit, and cannot sleep through a seven am alarm if it meant life and death.

Geonhak takes no notice of him in the doorway, goes about his morning as Seoho thinks he would normally, without Seoho’s lazy scrutiny following his every move, but then, he reaches for a small box on the top of their kitchen shelf, anything but unassuming, painted in what must be a thousand colors, no doubt a product of the chaotic creativity of a five-year-old Geonhak looks after at work.

They have a few of those scattered around their apartment. Many a trinket gifted to Geonhak, by one kid or another who has fallen in love with him as only a child ever could, has found its way into their lives, and Geonhak, too fond and genuinely touched by the presents he receives, does not even _think_ about throwing out any of them.

And, as is rather apparent, he makes use of them, as much as he is able.

Now, Seoho knows where all of those notes have gone. Existing somewhere Seoho can easily reach, yet nowhere in his own worldly realm. Schrödinger‘s notes, if you will - there, right there, and yet not, states of being and non-being in cohabitation.

Maybe, the comparison has a complicated application in real life. Most theories do, hence why they tend to remain just that - theoretical. Seoho watches, though, and as soon as he takes a step forward, further, closer, announces his presence to Geonhak scribbling his heart and soul onto a tiny piece of paper, only to put it in a box and out of existence, everything will be different. 

Seoho could choose to step away, too. Wait for Geonhak to take his leave, grab the box and reach for the treasure within. See the words Geonhak has kept from him to, what, make a point? Play this stupid game with him?

See him squirm in a different manner, outside of the bedroom?

But—Seoho does not want to do that.

Odd, is how he feels, not indecisive over his actions, nor angry about what he sees. There is a curious ache in his chest, an unsteady warmth around his heart, though no fault lies with Geonhak. 

Geonhak is a man of intent.

There is a reason why he has written them down, still, in spite of them never getting to fulfill their true and honest purpose. There is a reason why he has kept them, somewhere Seoho could have easily stumbled upon them, hiding in plain sight.

Pride is meaningless, in the greater scheme of things. 

Even in the great, it should not be held to such a high pedestal. 

So, Seoho swallows it down, finally, twenty-six days too late, and jumps over his shadow. A game in and of itself.

“Are those for me?” He asks, voice raspy for nervousness and the remnants of fatigue alone. “Was wondering where they went.”

Geonhak turns to him, not with wide eyes, not with a shock that would be expected if your boyfriend appeared to haunt your dirty little secret after a month of you getting away with it. 

No.

Geonhak’s face is—calm. Serene. Seoho blinks against the sunlight, and even finds relief. 

“Took you long enough,” he has the gall to say.

The smirk, thank God, does not make an appearance.

Still, the words deeply, _deeply_ , upset Seoho.

He all but throws calm out of the window.

“Took me long enough?” He all but screeches, walking the small distance between him and his boyfriend to point an accusatory finger at him. “You—you! Stupid! I _hate_ you.”

Geonhak’s big, muscular chest must hardly withstand the attack, and yet a small laugh still rumbles through as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Sorry, pumpkin. I didn’t expect you to last this long,” Geonhak says.

Phrased like this, intent is evident, the implication almost offensive. For that alone, Seoho must save his honor. Whatever is left of it. 

“Ah, excuse me? I’m not the one with a box full of sticky notes just right out here in the open,” Seoho counters, and perhaps his voice speaks of a certain kind of exasperation, though Seoho would argue that is still very, very calm. Very calm, despite how high his tone may travel. “You—I’ll have you know that I’ve won this stupid game of yours, if only because you’re reckless enough to—to reveal yourself like this! Stupid!”

Seoho is not—agitated. Not angry, per se. 

Frustrated, yes, a little bit. Desperate for an explanation, sure.

“You forgot to mention that I am stupid, I think,” Geonhak supplies, thoughtful, oh-so-helpful, eyes sparkling with a warmth Seoho fails to comprehend. How can this man be so fond of him, even now?

“Well, you are!” Seoho says, more of a grumble now, and his lips form a pout when Geonhak raises an eyebrow at him, knowing. “Okay, fine, you are not stupid, of course, but this sure wasn’t smart. Now I’m the winner, you fool. You are a fool!”

“A stupid fool, one might say,” Geonhak offers, now grinning from ear-to-ear, after all. Seoho wants to wipe that stupid grin off that stupid face.

“Yeah, yeah, you are!” Seoho insists, and he is about to go on yet another tirade when he takes a pause, narrows his eyes at Geonhak who could not seem any less fazed by Seoho’s outrage. As much as Geonhak may be used to the everyday dramatism that is Lee Seoho, Seoho thinks that he ought to show at least a small ounce of remorse at his loss.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Seoho asks eventually, his suspicions getting the better of him. He watches Geonhak’s mouth twitch in delight, mouth barely working around the words of denial, “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

He is making Seoho _say_ it, isn’t he?

He is _still playing with him._

“I—” Seoho begins, “Yes, you are!”

Another minute goes by, Seoho gaping at his boyfriend and the serenity in the slight quirk of his brow and the twinkle in his eye. The sort of easy determination that only comes to those who do not care whether they win, whether they lose, if there is a tie or the game has been called off, because, in the end, it is not the scheme itself that has any meaning to them.

It is what comes afterwards that holds importance.

Geonhak does not gloat in what Seoho would assume to be victory, neither does he mourn in the wake of defeat.

When Seoho looks at him—really, really lets himself _look_ —he does not see it affecting him much at all. 

Happiness - the warm, the open kind - is all Seoho finds, all Geonhak lets him find, but there is not much Geonhak will leave undiscovered if Seoho ever chooses to explore. The only true conclusion is that, for all of Seoho’s screaming, Geonhak does not regret being found out - is not, in fact, a _stupid fool_ as he lets himself be called, even in fondness.

“What’s the story here, Geonhak?” Seoho asks him, having taken his time to collect the loose ends of his nerves and tie them back together. The air turns heavier, then, with just his tone, and Geonhak’s smile visibly falters. Seoho is thrown back to a morning eight days ago, when Seoho assured him that he was not mad and would never be.

He was - is - happy with Geonhak, notes or not.

It is just that—he is above and beyond confusion by now. In dangerous need of an explanation.

Pricking his ears to finally receive it, have some questions answered, theories refuted.

See where their graph is aiming to go.

“I was—just teasing you, at first,” Geonhak admits, a pink tinge on his cheeks that baffles Seoho even more. “You always tease me for writing them to you, I think it was time to—retaliate, just a little.”

Makes perfect sense - Seoho does not buy it.

“Really? That’s all?” Seoho narrows his eyes, focusing his attention on the twitch of a muscle, the nervous blink of an eye, a rough swallow, anything that might give Geonhak away.

So far, the rosy dust on Geonhak’s cheeks is all he can spot. 

“Well, at first, I meant to, uh. Stop after a week or so?” Geonhak shrugs. “Because I wasn’t sure if you’d even noticed. You didn’t say anything. But you kept—looking at me like you were expecting something, so I knew that you knew and… well. I wanted to see how long you’d last.”

“Longer than you!” Seoho is quick to say, which has Geonhak chuckle, and Seoho duck his head in embarrassment. 

Geonhak does not say anything else, just gives him a kiss on the cheek - for his incredible endurance, Seoho is sure - and gathers the little box in his hands, the small stack of sticky notes on the brink of overflowing if it were not for Geonhak’s large hand holding them in place.

Now it sits there, between them, and Geonhak smiles down at his tiny creations, the minuscule pieces of his soul, as though they are meant for something well beyond their station, a greater purpose than a fleeting compliment or an assuring reminder.

“You still wrote them every day? Just to put them in this little box?” Seoho asks, a small sort of wonder creeping into his voice without requesting permission first.

Geonhak nods, smile crooked. “I had to be ready, just in case. I would’ve dropped everything if you had only asked.”

_But then I would’ve lost._

“There are no losers here, Seoho, don’t you realize that by now?” Geonhak speaks, voice so tender as he takes Seoho’s chin beneath two fingers, the rough skin of his thumb grazing the softness of Seoho’s lips. Nerve endings go haywire at the touch, so much so that Seoho closes his eyes to the sensation, eager to focus his entire energy on this simple feeling, no other sense necessary to register how he has spoken his thoughts aloud just now. “You’ll see what I mean, in a minute, I promise.”

“Why?” Seoho asks, voice a mere rasp, so he clears his throat and recollects his bearings. He cannot discuss this matter, see the bigger picture, if Geonhak’s focus is on him like this, eyes so bright and cheeks so red, it almost does not make any sense, does not abide by any logic Seoho knows, and the confusion seeps into his bones to stay there, leaving his mind in disarray.

When Geonhak lets go of him, it is to gather up his hands and press the box into their safety, Seoho the new protector and keeper of what is meant to be his, anyway. The edges dig into his palms, not sharp, but insistent, and Seoho looks down to see Geonhak’s hands engulf his.

A kiss is pressed against his forehead, “They’re yours now, sorry for those twenty-six days of delay.”

Seoho regards him, mouth open with words that just will not come out.

Twenty-six stars in the dark night sky of Geonhak’s irises. If it were within Seoho’s capabilities, if it were his field of study, he would search for all of them, try to get as close as he can get - an approximation in his hands, he feels the weight of them pull him in with a force of gravity worth a thousand of their kind.

He does not know what it is that he _can_ say. What he is supposed to feel, after all he has wished for is his again.

His heart beats with a sense of betrayal that he cannot place—a quiet simmering, a disappointed knock at his chest, but it is not guilt for caving in, nor anger at his boyfriend.

It is just— _that._ Disappointment.

At what, at whom, he has yet to figure out. 

Maybe, somewhere deep down, Seoho has expected something different when he took his steps closer. He could have guessed Geonhak’s reasoning from a mile away, really, but he knows that—this can hardly be it, can it?

This is all? So easy, within reach?

_If you had only asked._

“You aren’t mad I kept them from you, are you?” Geonhak asks him, an eyebrow raised in that familiar expression of concern Seoho has last seen mere eight days prior.

“No, I—of course not,” Seoho says, before his mind can procure nonsense that shall hide the truth, shove his feelings back into a drawer he will be too afraid to reopen. “I suspected you were just poking a little fun at me, and those notes are—well, I did miss them? A lot, actually. But I knew having them with me every day or not, it wasn’t nearly as important as having you with me. So, I could never be mad at you for something stupid like that. It’s just notes, they don’t get to decide over the state of our relationship.”

And they do not, really, they cannot. They were his treats on grey days, a reward for making it through half a day at a stressful job.

But at the end of the day, what he has been looking forward to the most, has always been Geonhak at home, waiting for him to come home and greet him with a kiss and another reminder all in itself - that Seoho has found someone who will make his choice to love him time and time again. Note or no note. Sticking to lunch boxes or hiding in a box.

Seoho loves him, no matter what. And he is about to say this, when Geonhak speaks up.

“Well,” Geonhak says, “actually. In this case, I—I would hope that they do.”

Now that. That irritates Seoho, just a bit. “What?”

“Just read the notes, why don’t you?” Geonhak suggests sweetly, giving Seoho another quick kiss on the cheeks. “I’ll be right back.”

And then, he leaves Seoho with the box, and—Seoho, logically, rationally, knows what to do with it, he does but.

Time is relative, and it could be seconds or an entire minute before he turns the box upside down and lets the notes fall into a heap on the kitchen counter, an uncoordinated mess of scribbles and dates and numbers that Seoho has to sort through. Geonhak puts the date in the top left corner, so the task is neither hard nor difficult, except.

Except, when he reads the words _I love you, I hope you have a wonderful day, pumpkin_ right next to _I hope the presentation goes well today!! I know you’ll do amazing! <3_, Seoho feels his heart fall to his stomach, and tears succumb to the same gravity, the stars still pulling despite his best efforts to rob them of their power.

_Last night was good. We should do that more often._

_You looked very cute this morning. Your hair flew about in every direction, and you looked like a little kitten, confused and disoriented._

_Thank you for cooking my favorite meal yesterday. I love you._

_I saw what you did for Dongju. Never seen him smile so bright._

_Day 1200 of being with you. Weird, right? But that’s just us, weirdos, who love each other a lot. You drive me crazy still._

_Your smile is like a ray of sunshine, you clumsy, talented nerd._

_Whenever people ask me what I love about you, I always feel like I cannot stop talking. Would never stop talking, even if I could. Call me a sap all you want, it’s the truth._

Variations of those same phrases appear, day after day, starting from March 7th, stopping on March 24th.

Day seventeen.

On March 25th, the messages become—odd.

They are no longer full sentences, no longer compliments, affirmations, love confessions.

They are but simple words.

The first being ‘Will’. Then, on March 26th. ‘You’. Followed by ‘Do’ and ‘Me’, with a small wink that is unmistakably suggestive. 

(Seoho does Geonhak, fairly regularly. Geonhak need not ask.)

Seoho puts every note down carefully, with shaking fingers, because ‘The’, ‘Honor’ and ‘of’ bring the question further along, and Seoho’s heart lurches into his throat.

This cannot be what he thinks it is. They are already so high up, how much further can they go?

‘Becoming’ is the message of April 1st. Not a joke, but Seoho is April’s fool. It is day twenty-five of this game, and day 1211 of their relationship.

One is missing, one of today, and Seoho only now realizes that this was Geonhak’s plan all along, the reason why he appeared so unbothered to be caught. He wanted to be found out today. He wanted Seoho to see.

This _has_ been a scheme, after all - just not the kind Seoho expected.

When he turns to search where Geonhak has gone to confront him, the man is already waiting in the doorway, final sticky note in hand. It sits atop a small black casket, held tight in his hand, unassuming under any other circumstance if it were not so clear what is inside.

Geonhak approaches him, like an asymptote, closer, closer, closer, so close he is almost touching, but he does not, will not, not unless Seoho himself will take a turn and cross his path by coincidence or intent.

“You’re missing one,” Geonhak says, holding up a white note, an outsider between all the animals and colors. The words, however, do stick out more than any kitten theme ever could.

‘My Husband?’, completes the question, and Seoho gasps, even though he expected them.

Seoho promptly swallows his tongue, stares wide-eyed at Geonhak, whose smile is blinding now that the morning sun has come around to illuminate his face.

“Surprise?” He says, and Seoho starts screaming on the inside. It comes out, curiously enough, as a nervous giggle.

“Before you say anything,” Geonhak calls, arm reaching out, the black mystery still in his hand. “I asked your mother. And your sister. For their blessing. Not because I think you can’t make such a decision all by yourself, but because I know it’s important to you. They’re important to you.”

They are. Seoho used to pester his sister for money growing up, acting like the annoying little brother who was beyond spoiled but made up for it by being cute. His mother, too, is one of the most special people in Seoho’s life, a true inspiration from an early age on, someone he could talk to in any and every situation, no matter how tough it was.

Seoho tries not to cry at the thought of Geonhak, adopted into their family from their first meeting, meeting with his sister, his mother, cannot even begin to picture how excited he must have been, how his nerves had probably gone through the roof.

“And uh,” Geonhak clears his throat, “I am sorry if I… chose the wrong way to do this. But you know, that moment last week, when you said—we were on the incline… I felt that now was as good a time as any to do what I have been meaning to do for so, so long.”

And Seoho, poor Seoho and his loss of speech, can only stand there, watch his boyfriend fiddle with his fingers and speak all of these words, yet he does not process them in the way that he should. His brain has stopped functioning. A short-circuit. Errors all over the place. 

“I won’t get down on one knee, because I know you’re just gonna say—”

“—You’re gonna hurt yourself, old man,” Seoho finishes, in a bit of a daze, but he is glad to find remnants of himself standing in this kitchen space. 

“Even though I am _younger than you_ ,” Geonhak grins, hints of exasperation at the jab in his tone. This little detour does not deter him from his path, however, and he continues merrily.

“Lee Seoho. You are the most important person in my life. You are so—careful with your affections, with the love you give, and although you don’t always show it in the way other people might, it is obvious to anyone who knows you that you are loving and caring and—I can ask Dongju alone, and he’d make me a list of all the times you helped him out, in quiet sort of ways, even though you complained or whined at first.”

Now, if asked, Seoho will deny ever having helped out his little devil son, but it is hardly a moment to protect his pride. He forewent it, the instant he set foot into their kitchen, then again when a sole tear rolled down his cheeks.

“I know we had a—rocky start. Who would’ve thought that two immature, stupid college boys who fight all the time would ever get their act together and admit that they’re falling in love with each other?”

“We got there, in the end,” Seoho says, a whisper all he can manage. He is not one to cry easily, not usually but—circumstances have him on the verge of tears regardless, and if he talks too loudly, chances are he is going to burst into sobs before Geonhak can even finish his speech.

“We did,” Geonhak smiles softly, and then defies the laws of mathematics by looping an arm around Seoho’s waste, touching Seoho’s back and stroking the expanse of skin through his shirt. “You know, we’ve been together 1212 days today?”

“Great number,” Seoho says, huffing a small laugh. It is a good number. Divisible by two, always nice. Symmetric, repetitive. With a good potential to become his favorite.

“Yeah, I thought you might think so,” Geonhak agrees, the smile on his face rather proud. “I want to make it 1212 more, then 2424 days, 4848 days. Until we grow old and become that nasty couple that nags at each other all the time, though deep down, they will have never stopped loving each other.”

“Aren’t we that already?” Seoho smirks, all of the numbers in his head doing quick math and laughing in delight.

“You’re right, you are already nagging at me every chance you get,” Geonhak hums, very obviously teasing again, but Seoho gives him a light slap to the arm. “Ow!”

Seoho scoffs. “I am not nagging at you!”

“So are!”

“Name one time in the last week,” Seoho demands, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

He does not expect Geonhak to find an answer so fast. “Yesterday evening, when you were complaining about me not doing the dishes—”

“Well, it was your turn!” Seoho insists. “And I didn’t nag, I gently reminded you—”

“Seoho, love?” Geonhak interrupts him, probably to stop this discussion before it has any chance at catching fire. “I would love to talk about this with you in the next 1212 days or so, but for now, I, uh. Would like to…”

He waves the black casked in front of Seoho’s face, and— 

Oh yeah. Seoho forgot about that there, just for a second.

Geonhak clears his throat, breathes in and out to steady his nerves, Seoho presumes, and then he is locking eyes with Seoho. The air changes in an instant Geonhak’s heavy gaze is on him, and Seoho’s lungs cease their function, in preparation or in anticipation. It is difficult to procure the oxygen he oh-so-needs to survive, but Geonhak’s arms are holding him up.

Even if he falls, he will be caught. And there will be a prince to rescue him, should he need one.

“So. I already said—a _lot_ in my notes. I already told you how much I love you, care for you. And—when I was younger, the prospect of marriage always seemed so impossible. Something for other people, for my parents, for anyone that wasn’t—well, me.

“But—with you, Seoho. With you, it is something within reach. Like all I have to do is hold out my hand—”

(He does. Seoho takes it.)

“—and I’ve got it. Everything I ever wanted. And more. I have someone who will always excite me, keep me on my toes. Or on my knees, you know, I’m not too picky—”

(Seoho giggles at the comment, for Geonhak is a rather pretty sight on his knees.)

“I suppose I’ve spelled it out already, but… Seoho. _Pumpkin_. Will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

The casket opens with a click, and Seoho stares at a thin ring of silver, sprinkled with diamonds so minuscule, it glitters in the morning sun. A chain is attached, the ring hanging loosely when Geonhak pulls it up, up, further into the sunlight, and now it is a dazzling sight that robs his breath for more than its sole beauty.

For, see, Seoho cannot wear rings to work, more often than not. Precious possessions have nothing to do in a laboratory, and while Seoho could throw caution to the wind and wear them in spite of regulations, he would rather not take the risk.

The chain - it speaks of a thoughtfulness any and every soul that knows Geonhak would attribute to him.

Because Seoho can wear a necklace all right, beneath protective layers of clothing. He could have a piece of Geonhak with him the whole time, would not have to take it off anytime he came close to the site of an experiment.

God.

Seoho loves Geonhak so much.

“Yes, of course, you stupid fool!” is Seoho’s final, screech of a reply to a question that could not be easier to answer, and he throws himself at his boyfriend, fiancé, future husband, with such a force that Geonhak lets go of the casket in shock and has trouble stabilizing them, so they end up falling to the ground in a helpless pile of love.

Seoho kisses him senseless once he gets his stupid pretty face into his hands, plasters smooches all over it and giggles uncontrollably in-between each one.

Geonhak, well—he just lies there and… lets it happen.

  
  
  
  


(Later, much later, when the sun has already set after a day well-spent in bed.

Geonhak lets him in on a little secret.

“You know, the others bet on who would cry first during the proposal.”

“Oh God, please tell me the demons didn’t win.”

“... Sorry, pumpkin.”

“ _No!_ ”)

**Author's Note:**

> i'll let you take a guess how the demons bet. whoever's getting it right in the comment gets a golden star for their good noodle board
> 
> (also, like, where I live, we're not not allowed to wear jewellery to lab, but it's not recommended, since it's not insured if something does happen to it. i applied the same principle here. whoop.)
> 
> dahlia, I hope you liked my super cool take on seodo. these idiots shall now be happy forever.
> 
> if you liked this silly fic, then why don't you let me know in a comment. i would appreciate some nice feedback for this work, and if I made you smile or laugh heh eh ok ay
> 
> thank you for reading.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/sangiebyheart) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/sangiebyheart)


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